The Devil's Kiss
by katilla
Summary: Dracula has been brought back from the dead. By whom and for what purpose are unknown even to him, but he intends to take full advantage.
1. A Reunion That Could Not Be

Heaven was more beautiful than words could ever have told her. Such warmth and dazzling light Anna had never seen in life. But of all the celestial grandeur, the smiles of her reunited family were the brightest jewels. 

Then, quite suddenly, the jewels lost their luster.

"Velkan!" Anna said to her brother with a laugh. "Why do you look so sad? We are together again. All of us!"

But Velkan said nothing and only looked away. One by one, he and the rest of her family began to fade into the ether. The beautiful light that had enveloped Anna just moments ago quickly waned as if pulled away by an unseen hand.

"No!" she wept. "NO!"

She heard herself scream - a scream that ended too abruptly in a gasp and darkness' smothering embrace.


	2. A Great Deal Of Recovery

It was the sound of a distant pianoforte that roused her. She could not recognize the muffled melody and was unable even to discern whether it was a joyful tune or a dirge.

As her senses faintly returned to her, she became aware that she was desperately cold. She was naked, she realized, and standing in bone-chilling water up to her chest. But it wasn't water. Water was not so dark as this. And the smell... acrid and metallic... the smell could only be that of...

A weak beam of light from somewhere above revealed something small and white floating in the liquid around her. A maggot. A dead one, at that. Anna intended to shriek but could only manage a feeble croak before she vomited.

What has happened to me? she silently asked herself. She was at the bottom of a cistern, it seemed... rigid with cold and bathed in brackish blood. This was not how she had died - and she had died, hadn't she? She remembered her family coming to greet her before they were taken away. Or before SHE was taken away, she wasn't sure.

Far away, the strange music seemed to mock her. Anna knew that its maker kept her here, though the identity of her captor was a question as yet unanswered.

Unanswered, that was, until the music stopped playing.

Anna's tiny source of light became obscured, and she knew that someone was watching her. She thought she heard a soft chuckle and then, all at once, the cover of her cell was thrown off and she was yanked cruelly upward by one arm, landing facedown in the cold, hardened dirt.

So it is night, she thought, too bewildered to think of anything else.

Her captor ran his fingers through her hair.

"Anna Valerious wakes at last," he breathed.

His voice was one that Anna had not forgotten and could not forget in Heaven nor in Hell.

"Count Dracula, you son of a--" she croaked before her body was rocked with spasms of pain.

"Shh shh shhhh..." said the vampire as Anna violently heaved blood from her lungs. "You are not ready for so much... excitement."

With that, he grabbed her and flipped her body so that could see him.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. But she knew she was incapable of both.

Nearly half of the Count's face was nothing but aging bone. Bereft of flesh, his teeth on one side protruded like hideous knives. He laughed at her horror.

"It would appear we both have a great deal of recovery ahead of us," he said. 


	3. Tilla

"Tilla, make me beautiful!" commanded the young girl as she flung her payment proudly on the table. 

The crone ignored the clatter of dirty coins and dusty heirlooms and shifted in her chair.

"Did you bring all that I require?" she asked, though she saw the payment clearly and knew its worth - while meager - was sufficient. Tilla, weathered like a gnarled oak, had long ago found that feigning blindness made her more believable.

"Y-yes," the girl faltered. "I'm s-sure that's enough."

Tilla grinned in her horrible, jagged way.

"It's all you have, isn't it?" she said.

The girl ashamedly nodded then, remembering the witch was blind, loudly affirmed. Too loudly.

Tilla cackled.

"Go on, then, sit down. Put your hands out," she ordered and her customer obediently complied.

The girl was plain with skin toughened and browned from years of hanging laundry out to dry. Her hair was like straw but clean. From the looks of her, Tilla noticed, she had it better than most lifelong servant girls but, like most servant girls, harbored ridiculous dreams of rescue by a handsome prince on a white steed. If only she were beautiful enough...

They always believed beauty was the answer. Not just seventeen-year-old maids. Women of all ages and circumstances, and men, too. When they learned Tilla could not change the hearts of others, they all made the same request.

Make me beautiful.

Ignorant, vain fools.

Tilla arranged an array of curious objects - a crow's foot, human teeth, the dried husk of what was once a toad. None of these things bore any sort of magical significance, but her customers had certain expectations. If it kept food on her table, Tilla was willing to play the part.

She closed her eyes and bowed her head.

"By adjornum and mephesio," she improvised. "At the great goddess Ishtar's whim... speak unto me your heart's desire! Speak thrice! And it shall be done!"

The girl did not hesitate.

"Make me beautiful! Make me so beautiful that he cannot think of another! Make me so beautiful that no man can sleep once he has seen my... my beauty!"

Tilla uttered more nonsense and moaned as if overtaken by spiritual passion. Then, all at once, she stopped.

"It is done," she whispered upon opening her eyes. "See for yourself!"

She handed the girl a cracked hand mirror and watched with disgust as she marveled over her unchanged reflection.

"Oh! Oh Tilla... it's wonderful! I cannot believe it! Is it me? Is it really ME?"

Tilla only laughed. It would be years before the poor child understood the nature of the true spell. Perhaps she never would. It was fed, after all, upon vanity. The more she admired herself, the more beautiful she would believe herself to be. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, some said, but few under the spell were ever the wiser despite the loneliness that continued in their wretched lives.

"Now away with you," she hissed. "And do not return or the spell will be broken forever!"

The girl immediately fled Tilla's ramshackle hut, gleefully laughing and still clutching the broken mirror.

So ended another day for Tilla, the old witch of Annweiler. For money, she performed petty charms and curses. Magic - if it could even be called such - that scarcely existed outside the minds of her patrons. That is not to say she did not possess greater skills. Indeed, she knew a power darker than midnight, though she was wise enough not to utilize it for trifles. Such power, however, was not enough. One day Tilla would die, and she knew of no spell that could save her from death.

Yet.

There was a legend of a man who had escaped death for centuries. It was said that whoever drank of his blood would live forever. According to legend, the man was eventually felled by some fantastic creature, the nature of which varied in every story. Some said it was a dragon. Some said it was a werewolf. This mattered little to Tilla, for while she could not yet avoid her own demise, she knew that the man of legend had existed. And she knew how to raise the dead.


	4. Blood Of My Blood

It must have been a terrible shock for the pretty gypsy princess, ripped from Heaven's loving arms and cast back to the unfeeling earth, thought Dracula with a smile. "A drowned rat" was a common expression he had heard, and none more aptly suited his prize at this moment. Anna's once glorious dark ringlets hung matted with blood and leaves, and crimson droplets clung to the down of her grayed skin. The eyes that long ago shone like jewels bore a vacant look, now. Yes, her body was very much dead, but it would - in time - regain its former liveliness. He had to be patient. 

"You were scattered on the four winds before I collected you," Dracula said quietly. He dipped a pitcher into the warm water of the bath and gently poured it over Anna's bare shoulders, watching as it rippled down her neck and between her breasts.

The subtle flutter of her eyelashes was the only indication she felt anything at all. Pitiful bedraggled thing, thought the count. She had once been beautiful and strong... and she would be again.

"But the winds still answer to me," Dracula continued with a note of pride. "Have you any idea the time and agony it took to revive you?"

Anna's breath rattled slowly in and out of her chest. She gazed into nothingness.

The count emptied another pitcher down the nape of her neck, admiring it as he did so. Despite the harsh effects of death, Anna's form had lost none of its grace.

"Countless months I spent awaiting your ashes and bleeding myself nearly dry so that I could one day restore you to physical form," he said. "And at last..."

He smiled as he worked to loosen Anna's knotted locks.

"At last you are reborn. Not as you were before, no, but in time you will be so much more."

Anna was unfazed.

"Do you hear me, Princess?" Dracula sneered. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him, hideous as he was.

She blinked but remained unmoved.

There was a time when she would have fought him, but her will seemed to have abandoned her in death. Of course, this would make her easier to control but far less interesting as a mate.

"You are reborn of MY blood. Of MY essence," he growled. "That makes you _mine_, Anna Valerious. Do you say nothing?"

Anna inhaled slowly, carefully and exhaled with equal care.

"What is it?" Dracula hissed, tightening his grip. "I know you want to speak."

Anna swallowed and licked her cracked lips.

"You..." she rasped.

Her chest rose and fell.

"Talk... too much..."

Dracula's lone eye blazed with fury before he threw back his head and issued a low laugh.

His grin quickly faded. He moved close to Anna's ear.

"_Be thankful that I pity you,"_ he whispered so delicately that Anna felt his words more than she heard them. _"I will not be so kind when we are both... ourselves... again._"


	5. The Devil's Earthly Servants

In the dim confessional stall sat a bruised and weathered man. Unshaven, dirty, and decorated with dried cuts - there was little doubt he needed forgiveness. 

"Forgive me, Father," he began with a weary sigh.

"Etcetera, etcetera and all of the usual," interrupted another man's voice from the other side of the wall. "How many times must we go through this routine, Gabriel? You were doing so well for such a long time."

Gabriel knew there was no point in arguing with Cardinal Jinette. The Cardinal was an old man, but age had only shortened his temper. And, anyway, it did not matter that the demon Gabriel had been sent to capture had forced its host to shoot himself. Gabriel had been slow to act. He could not deny this.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "I... have no answer."

He heard the Cardinal's sigh of disapproval and felt it in his heart.

"How have you been sleeping these nights, Gabriel?" the Cardinal asked.

Gabriel swallowed audibly and paused for a long time.

A moth fluttered in the stall, making tiny thumps against a wooden panel.

"The dreams have uh..." Gabriel exhaled heavily. "I'm having the dreams again."

The other man did not respond.

"I see the old faces," he continued. "The torture and the death... the wars. No, I'm not sleeping well, these nights."

Through the lattice of the divider, he could see the Cardinal's frame straighten.

"So, it is true," said the Cardinal.

"What do you mean? What's true?"

Gabriel heard a deep, undoubtedly painful cough, followed by a faint wheeze. Age had weakened more than the old man's patience.

"What's true?" he persisted.

"It is vital that you tell NO ONE what I am about to tell you now," answered the Cardinal with another raucous cough. He allowed himself to recover before continuing. "We believe... I believe that Count Dracula is alive."

Gabriel shook his head.

"That's not possible," he argued. "Dracula was nothing but a pile of bones and dust when I left Transylvania. And we buried the bones. How could he possibly be alive?"

"Even a soul in the bowels of Hell can be brought back while the Devil maintains power over darkness," said the Cardinal in a voice barely above a whisper. "And the Devil has many earthly servants."

"How do you know he has been brought back?" Gabriel asked. "How do you know this isn't just some story spread among the villagers for mischief?"

"Can you not feel it?"

There was a strange sort of silence, almost sickening.

The Cardinal went on.

"There have been several accounts of a man fitting Dracula's description haunting the village by night," he said gravely. "Accounts by small children whose parents vowed never to speak of that horror again in their lifetimes. And there have been deaths."

Gabriel laughed bitterly.

"There have always been deaths. There will always BE deaths," he said. "If Dracula really is alive, it means I didn't kill him ten years ago. And it means I can't kill him now. I'm of no help to you, Cardinal. Find another man."

He stood to leave and was surprised to find his way unbarred.

"May you sleep well tonight, Gabriel," the Cardinal called after him. "Knowing that you keep the Valerius family from Heaven."

"What?" Gabriel stopped but did not turn around.

The Cardinal remained in his place.

"Bring Dracula back to me alive, Gabriel. ALIVE," he ordered. "Then we may deal with him with all the power of God, and perhaps then we can destroy the monster for eternity."

Gabriel clenched his fists and unclenched them again. The very mention of the Count's name brought a swell of painful memories.

"Who will assist me?" he asked wearily.

"No one," came the answer. "I have told you that the Devil has many servants. It is my fear that one of our own may be such a servant. It is for this reason that I insist upon the secrecy of this mission. You are the only one I can trust, Gabriel Van Helsing. I know you will find a way."

A jarring mechanical whir signaled the end of the meeting as the Cardinal disappeared back into the cathedral's secret depths.

Outside the massive cathedral, Gabriel's horse waited. Ominous clouds were gathering on the horizon and, for a moment, Gabriel found himself searching them for her face. But he knew she would not be there.


	6. The Dragon Awakens

The dark man only spoke in whispers. 

"_Otillia_..." He whispered, long and low as a dying man's final breath. "_Otillia_..."

Tilla stirred in her sleep. She felt the chill of the dark man's presence even in her slumber.

"_OTILLIA!_" said the dark man, his whisper becoming quick and light like a child's voice. The dark man could assume any form, but the very wise would know him by his words.

"You call me, my Lord," Tilla murmured, still asleep.

"_Yesssss_," said the dark man. "_The dragon..._"

"Yes, my Lord," Tilla said, clutching at her ragged nightdress and exposing her hideous breasts. Man's basest desires could not be suppressed in the presence of the dark man, for he _was _these things.

"_The dragon awakens, my beloved Otillia_," he hissed. "_Soon he will be strong again. Strong as twenty men. You must go to him on the third new moon. Then he and his red fire shall be yours._"

Tilla moaned as if in ecstasy.

"_How shall I go to him, my Lord? How can I, an old woman, bring him back to me?_" she asked, her hands moving of their own accord over her withered skin.

"_The holy man will come to you when it is time, and he shall provide a way._"

And the dark man was gone, leaving only the chill as evidence he had ever been there.

Tilla awoke with a start. The words of the evil one rang clearly in her ears. Yes. _Yes_. The spell had worked. Of course, it had. Magic had never failed Tilla. Why should it be any different now?

The old witch smiled, and her smile grew until she could no longer contain the laughter bubbling within. Eternal life, beauty, and unimaginable power would soon be hers.


End file.
